I never thought I would see him naked.

He was my psychology teacher. In class, he was boring. He read from the textbook in a boring, heavily accented tone. Sometimes the drone of his voice matched the hum of the ceiling fans that rotated above us, making the class sleepy and bored.

But he was damn fine to look at.

Of Swedish decent, he stood well over six feet tall with broad shoulders, pale blond hair and blue eyes that seemed to pierce your skin; when he bothered to look up from the textbook, that is.

Professor Bergman was beautiful; there was no other word for it. He made all the girls in the class swoon with delight. He also made all the other gays in the class hard with desire—myself included.

He was the only reason I went to my Psych 101 class. I knew I wasn’t going to pass, so I didn’t even try. I just went to look at Professor Bergman and imagine the things he could do to me.

I would watch him as he spoke, his large hands holding his textbook. I imagined that his hands were really holding me, his long fingers digging into my flesh. I thought about those bright blue eyes looking into my brown ones, making me hot with the pleasure I knew was about to come.

Then the student next to me would cough or shift in his seat, bringing me back to reality, my fantasy fading quickly in the florescent overhead lights.

Back at my dorm room after class, I would jerk off while holding the picture of Professor Bergman in my mind: the blue of his eyes, the paleness of his hair that looked like spun gold. I would picture the planes of his face, the high cheekbones. I liked to imagine what he looked like underneath all of his clothes; I spent hours wondering at the shape of his muscles.

But I never thought I would see him naked. I thought that would remain only a fantasy, a passing dream.

I never thought it would become a reality.

Or that the reality would surpass my dream in every way.

Spark and Circumstance

I had been going to the university gym for a few weeks.

I told myself it was because I wanted to get in shape. But really it was so I could look at half naked men in all stages of undress.

I did work out though. I punished my body with exercises, cycling and weights. I ran on treadmills, went swimming and relaxed in the sauna. I also took my time in the locker room so I could observe all the men who walked around naked without a shred of worry.

I marvelled at the straight man’s ability to walk around naked in a locker room, with no sense of self-consciousness. I had to fight getting a hard-on all the time. I wondered whether any of the straight men actually found each other attractive, but were too busy denying their thoughts so their cocks would stay flaccid.

The night I saw and touched Professor Bergman, I had done a rigorous workout. I had run for well over an hour on the treadmill, done half an hour on the stationary bike and lifted weights for fifteen minutes. My body wasn’t anywhere near muscular, but it was more toned and fit than it had been. I stood tall at six foot one and had broad shoulders and a big frame. I kept my brown hair shorter than I had before. It was easier to manage when I had to rush to class in the mornings.

I was in the locker room and was taking off my workout clothes. I was bending down to reach for my towel when I heard a heavily accented voice in front of me.

“You are Owen, yes?”

I sat up, and my heart sped. Right in front of me, directly in my line of sight, was one of the most beautiful cocks I had ever seen. It was thick and hung about five inches soft. The pubic hair surrounding it was a coarse, dark blond.

I looked away from the cock and up at the body it belonged to. I saw a firm, taut stomach. I could see the outlines of a six pack, the overhead lights in the locker room creating shadows. The man’s chest was massive and smooth, the pecs taut and large. I could see his nipples; they were large and round and colored a dark rose.

“I-I’m sorry?” I said. I could barely find my voice. I had never seen such a body and had no idea yet who it belonged to. I stood, backed away a bit from the mystery man and looked at his face.

I was staring right at Professor Bergman. His brilliant blue eyes looked back at me, taking in my naked body with frank interest. His lips, large and supple, were curved in the hint of a smile.

“You are Owen, yes?” he repeated. “Owen from my class? You take the seven to ten class on Mondays, Psychology, yes?”

The words rolled off his tongue in heavily accented English and sounded like music. I nodded, afraid to speak—afraid that my voice would come out in a strangled squeak. I couldn’t stop myself from looking at his body, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with his breathing.

He laughed, and it sounded like water running over rocks. The sound made my nipples tighten, and I felt a stirring in my cock. My dick was dangerously close to a full-on erection. And I had no way to hide it from Professor Bergman.

“Am I making you nervous, like this?” He motioned to his naked body and ran his eyes down my own. “You are used to seeing me with clothes, yes?” He smiled. “You look very good out of your own.”

I nodded again. I wasn’t too stunned to realize something vitally important: Professor Bergman was hitting on me.

“Thank you, Professor Bergman,” I said, my voice soft and hesitant. I felt as if the world around me were standing still. I could hear the splash of water from the showers hitting the tiles, but nothing more.

“You may call me Magnus,” he said. “I must admit, I never thought I’d see you here. You work out often?”

“I just started. I haven’t been doing it very long.”

Professor Bergman—Magnus—eyed my body again with his bright blue eyes. “I do not think you need it, this working out. Your body is fine as it is.”

He smiled again, and I was lost in it. I fell into that smile, into the blueness of his eyes; as he leaned closer to me, every fantasy I’d ever had about Professor Bergman came to life.

When he kissed me, his kiss left every fantasy behind.